


Pulling Pigtails

by PaddyWack



Series: Second Chances (In Which Altair Utterly Fails At Parenting But His Brothers Love Him Anyway) [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Connor has a crush, F/M, Gen, big bro Altair, both are emotionally stinted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyWack/pseuds/PaddyWack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor has a problem. Altair is 100% done with his shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Pigtails

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took forever to come out. In my defense, there was work and classes and then an epic car accident that left me with a slightly-broken finger. Which I still used to write this, so you're welcome.
> 
> (No warnings for this bit except one reference to suicide. Read at your own risk.)

 

 

**Pulling Pigtails**

 

_-i-_

 

“Is this just going to be a thing with you now, or what?”

 

Connor scowls even harder and tightens his arms across his chest. A pained hiss escapes between his teeth as Altair presses a little too hard against a fresh cut on his back. The other scratches and bruises have already been doctored up – by Malik, who is by far the more gentle and considerate, Connor fumes silently.

 

“Well?” Altair prods, spreading some kind of thick ointment over the superficial wound. “Stop pouting and talk to me, Connor. This is beyond stupid. Why are you suddenly trying to be a daredevil and jump off of every friggin building that catches your eye? Are you that depressed? Do you _want_ to kill yourself?”

 

“ _No_.” He tries not to flinch when Altair slaps on a sticky square bandage and yanks him around in his seat.

 

“Then what is it?” Facing him like this, Connor can see the worry in Altair’s face. It’s faint and buried deep behind the irritation and bravado that the oldest has worn since forever, but it’s there all the same. And it kind of makes Connor feel like shit.

 

“It’s nothing,” he mutters.

 

“The hell it’s nothing.” Altair bends to snatch up the crinkled bandage wrappers in his fist and crushes them with a little more force than necessary. “You won’t talk to me, you won’t talk to the counselor at school. Even your teacher keeps calling me saying you’re distant in class and won’t play with the other kids. What the hell, Connor? If it’s nothing then you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

 

God, he thinks. Ever since Altair had adopted them he’d turned into such a whiny mother hen about everything. Sometimes it feels like he can’t even read a book without his choice of genre being brought under suspicion.

He grinds his teeth and carefully pulls his shirt back on. “Would you calm down?  It’s no big deal and you’re  making it out to be this huge thing. You do parkour all the time with Malik, how is this any different?”

 

“It’s different because we follow safety procedures, you idiot!” Altair snaps, glaring like all he wants to do is tackle Connor down and beat him to a pulp. “We don’t go prancing around on unchecked buildings and then _suicide jump off of them._ ”

 

“I didn’t suicide jump off of it!” he shoots back, indignant. “The leaf pile was deep enough to cushion it, I knew what I was doing.”

 

“Oh my God, Connor, can’t you hear how crazy that sounds? You jumped off a building into a pile of leaves.”

 

“So?”

 

Altair throws the ball of trash in his hands away and stands abruptly from the table, pacing away from Connor and shoving a hand through his hair like he wants to yank it out by the roots. Connor briefly wonders if Altair’s going to get prematurely grey from how bad he stresses lately.

 

They’re both silent for a long time, until finally he hears a strained “Please” come from Altair’s side of the kitchen. It immediately makes him uncomfortable and wish he were anywhere else in the house but here. Anywhere else in the world, actually. The plea is too raw for someone as rough and gruff as Altair to make.

 

And it sounds too much like how things used to be.

 

He clenches his teeth tighter and looks away. Sometimes he wishes he were an only child just so he wouldn’t have to deal with things like this. So he wouldn’t have to feel guilty for making his older brother sound so defeated and down.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” he says eventually, tensing up further because he knows it’s not the answer Altair wants. “I promise. It’s really not.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

Again, they both go quiet and Connor feels his cheeks heat up with guilty embarrassment. And, of course, it only gets worse the harder he tries to fight it, until he’s completely red-faced and miserable and wanting nothing more than to crawl under the table to die.  

 

“Connor?”

 

He doesn’t look at Altair as he lets out a frustrated growl and slams his fists on the table. “God, fine! I did it because _she_ always acts like I don’t exist, like she’s somehow better than me because she’s pretty and everybody likes her. And climbing on the roof and jumping off is something I can do better than her! She can only do small stuff, you know? Like the shed by the track field or one of the buses. She’s afraid to try going up to the roof even if she won’t admit it – and when I did it, she actually noticed me. She couldn’t ignore me then, she – “ He cuts himself off, appalled by how much he’s already given away.

 

The confession makes his stomach churn and knot even worse than before, and if his face could get any redder he would probably be in danger of popping a few necessary blood vessels. When he can finally bring himself to look up at Altair it’s a small wonder he doesn’t try and break something over the older brother’s head in a fit of anger.

 

Altair is grinning at him.

 

Not one of those little amused ones either, but one of those mean ‘I’m going to fuck your shit up’ ones that every younger sibling has grown to recognize and fear. He sinks further into his seat and wallows in the self-pity that his adolescent mind drapes over him like a shroud.

 

“So, this is about a girl?”

 

He glares in response.

 

“What’s her name?”

 

He glares even harder.

 

“C’mon, Connor,” Altair sighs, walking back to the table and taking his seat again. He’s still grinning, which ruins the whole concerned brother act he’s trying to pull. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. So you were showing off, it’s no big deal, you’re right. I’m sorry I overreacted like I did.”

 

“I’m not embarrassed,” he retorts mulishly.

 

“Right. Of course you aren’t, I forgot you don’t feel emotion because you’re so hardcore,” Altair deadpans. “So what’s her name?”

 

Even though Altair’s being sarcastic, he feels a sense of pride at the teasing since he has been making a conscious effort to seem more aloof and maybe look cooler because of it. All of the _Seventeen_ magazines he’s been able to skim through while grocery shopping said girls really like the mysterious guys.

 

“Aveline.”

 

Altair nods and grins even wider. “And does Aveline know you like her?”

 

Connor grimaces and tries not to blush again. “Not exactly.” He really didn’t want to explain how he’s almost certain Aveline hates his guts with the way she’s always challenging him and trying to beat him at everything they happen to be doing at the time.

 

Altair’s grin morphs into a full-fledged smile at that, and Connor immediately becomes suspicious. He leans back as far as he can in his seat in an attempt to escape as Altair claps a hand on his shoulder with a brotherly shake, trapping him there.

 

“Well, then it’s time you and me had a talk, Connor.”

 

“About what?”

 

“About the confusing, terrifying, beautifully addictive and painful maze that is a woman’s mind.” He laughs with a purely evil twinkle in his eye. “And how you are totally going to get your ass kicked by it.”


End file.
